Changes
by daygogurl
Summary: What do you get when you mix stubborn college student Hermione Granger, investigative journalist Ron Weasley, San Diego beaches and a whole lot of sexual tension/fluff? This story! A little OOC, but read it nonetheless...please?
1. Prelude

A/N: Yay! Another R/Hr story!   
  
Disclaimer: All characters are J.K. Rowling's. One line (Hermione's) is from the book "Where the Heart Is" by Billie Letts.   
  
  
  
  
I'll always remember  
It was late afternoon  
It lasted forever  
And ended so soon  
You were all by yourself   
Staring up at a dark gray sky  
I was changed  
  
In places no one would find  
All your feelings so deep inside  
Was then that I realized   
That forever was in your eyes  
The moment I saw you cry  
  
Cry, Mandy Moore  
  
  
  
  
She could see him standing in the rain, a blurry figure in the window from the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle. Hermione hurried out of the Hall, past a worried Harry, who was almost buried in a pile of untouched letters from various Quidditch teams, and out into the grayness outside. She took off her Head Girl badge and stuck it into her pocket.   
  
She knew he could hear her coming, wet squishy footsteps against the pitter-patter of drizzly rain. He kicked a loose chunk of grass, watching it sink into the huge, slate-colored lake. A lump formed in her throat. "Ron?" He turned to face her. His eyes were so vulnerable. He sat down on the waterlogged ground, oblivious to the mud and the cold.   
  
"You're leaving me too." It was more of a statement than a question. It tore at her heart to see him like this. But she had to leave; this place held too many memories for her. "You have to, I know." She sat down next to him, soaking her robes still more. "It's just that I-" He stopped for a second before continuing. "Don't you care for me at all?" Ron lowered his head, unable to look at her. And she knew she had to say it.  
  
His salty tears were mingled with the raindrops rolling down his handsome, slightly freckled face. But she knew he was crying; his eyes were red and swollen. "Ron, of course I care for you." He glared at her.  
  
"That's not what I meant and you know it." She couldn't tell him. She wouldn't be able to leave; she'd spend the rest of her life here with Ron in England. She needed time to explore her feelings, to see the world, to live on her own. Ron needed someone who would be with him all the time, constant support, and she knew she couldn't provide that. But she knew she would try if she told him. She wasn't ready for forever yet   
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Ron." He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.  
  
"I love you, Hermione. I'm in love with you. I can't live without you. I..." He dropped his hands. "I don't know what else to say." Her breath came more rapidly. She had to say it.   
  
"I don't love you, Ron. Not in the way you need to be loved. Not in that way."  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Aargh!!! ::hugs Ron:: My poor Ronniekins!!! Sorry. This whole story will put Ron through torture;or rather, Hermione will. When will she get it? Geez. Oh, and before you all kill me, I'd like to say that I am a DIEHARD R/Hr shipper! So yeah. 


	2. Reuniting With Long-Lost Friends 101-Rev...

A/N: Sorry the last two parts were so short…BTW, thanks to everyone who reviewed! sugar-n-spice, Lady Lupin, j.j. Alan, Summer Shines, Sexy Oscar, ShellyK, Jaxx, Countess Gemina, Tennisgal, Elsie, and wmlaw... I'm so grateful, you guys don't even know. I got ten reviews already, and the other R/Hr story I'm working on (Separate Worlds) is going on seven chapters and only has 28 reviews…so go review that too! Just kidding…but you all know that's a shameless plug.  
  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling. That's all that needs to be said.  
  
  
  
Psychology, Room 36, Building Q.  
  
"Please turn in your homework," Hermione Granger, the current highest- ranking student of the Senior class at DeWalin Wizarding University, San Diego Campus, stuck her essay into the gigantic pile of parchment at the front of the room. She looked at her professor, Dr. Albert Bloth, expectantly. "Thank you." He pushed some wispy white hairs from his head with a pudgy hand and continued. "Today, we shall continue our study of human behavior with a guest visitor." Hermione looked out at the gray, tumultuous sky outside. Not unlike home, she thought. She had always hated rainy days, for some strange reason. "As our last discussion has shown, human will in the face of evil takes many forms. Although some of you may lean towards the contrary, there is undisputedly an immense capacity for humankind to triumph in the wake of such an encounter." He cleared his throat. "As I cannot speak on the topic as well as some who have battled with evil, I have invited a guest who has. Please welcome a colleague of mine in the research of Dark Forces, Mr. Ronald Weasley." Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. Ron? Here? A colleague? What the...she thought she would fall to the ground dead as Ron entered the room. It brought her back to another place, another time, another rainy day...  
  
"Miss Granger? Miss Granger?" Dr. Bloth's pudgy face leered down at her. "Are you alright?" Just a few weeks into classes and she was the favorite of all her professors. Which was good, since she needed their recommendations to continue on to her doctorate.  
  
"Yes, I'm fine." He beamed at her.  
  
"Well, since we do have a guest-" He gestured to Ron, who was staring at her with a mixture of surprise and...something else. "It would be wonderful if you could again remind us of your theory regarding those who triumph over evil." She gulped. That was her pet project, the extra-credit paper she'd been working on for the past few years.  
  
"Sure." With tremulous hands, she extracted the still-unfinished paper from her bag and read out the thesis. "Although mankind has the capacity to withstand evil forces, self-inflicted or otherwise, they will later be affected by it's post-trauma effects, particularly if a heavy loss is involved, and will still ultimately be destroyed by this evil." She had, of course, started it after all those people had been killed in the Final Confrontation. Years of isolation had hardened her, and her outlook on life was invariably touched by irony and sarcasm.  
  
Ron had been looking out of the window, thinking of...what? That fateful, long-ago day he had professed his love to her? No, she was just dreaming. Not that she was still in love with him. She was in love with the world, with education and travel and debate and... and...dimpled little babies and the wordless, comfortable silence shared by lovers; meaningless little spats that would be kissed away later, the feeling of being loved, truly loved...  
  
"Well, I'd have to disagree with your theory, Miss Granger." Ron's voice, deeper than she remembered it, cut through her thoughts. She searched his eyes desperately, looking for the Ron she knew in them. She didn't find him. "People who are affected by evil after it has touched their lives are often the strongest ones. They usually, to put it bluntly, get over it or..." His voice trailed off for a second before picking up again, "They run away and live the rest of their lives in denial." A murmur swept through the room as people scrambled for parchment to take notes, the occaisional "interesting, very interesting" by some student echoing through the room. Hermione sat frozen.  
  
She knew she had, however excruciating it had been, made the right choice. Look at Ron now. He was a scholar, a man of the world, successful and, by the expensive look of his robes, very rich. But was he happy? She wondered.  
  
His eyes, although intelligent and thoughtful, looked weary and hollow and more than a little jaded. It was all she could do to stop herself from throwing her arms around him. But then, she thought with a bittersweet smile, he might just awkwardly pat her head and move away. Hermione sobered quickly as Dr. Bloth hinted that Ron's own theories would be a focal point in next week's discussion. She looked up from her Quick-Quotes Quill, which was outlining the main points of Ron's lecture, to see the man himself deep in discussion with some students. He was loosening his tie. It was red and gold, just like his Gryffindor uniform. She remembered constantly redoing the knot for him, as it came untied quite often.  
  
Dr. Bloth dismissed the class with a wave of his hand and everyone got up to leave, chairs scraping as the air was filled with voices. She stuffed her notes and quill in her bag. Heaving it onto her bag, she headed outside, catching a last glimpse of Ron. He was scanning the crowd. She sped up, jostling more than a few students on the way. She reached the door and began to hurry down the hallway. She didn't know she was being watched.  
  
*********  
  
"Damnit." Ron Weasley flinched as he put down his razor, a dribble of blood sliding down his cheek. Groping for a tissue, he pressed it to the freshly- made cut and pressed it there, eager for the steady crimson trickle to stop. He stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, scanning it for his wand. It was easily located, and with the help of a handy first-aid spell the cut disappeared. He tossed the tissue into the rubbish can, watching as it sailed in easily. "I'd make a spanking good Quod player, I would."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, mate." Ron whirled around to find the head of his best friend, Harry Potter, grinning at him from the fireplace.  
  
"Bloody hell…don't scare me like that." He plopped down onto the carpet, tugging at the fine material gently. "So what's up?"  
  
"Nothing. I just wanted to see how you were doing with the lecturing and all."  
  
"I'm doing pretty well…people are really interested in what I have to say, particularly the Americans. I think all the gore interests them."  
  
"Strange." Harry studied Ron's face for a moment. "What's with you? You look like you've just seen a ghost."  
  
"I have." Black eyebrows shot up from under curious green eyes. "Been haunting me for years."  
  
"Get an exorcist or something. Or maybe you can confine her to a toilet, like Moaning Myrtle…wait, is it a normal ghost or a poltergeist?" Ron smirked at his friend.  
  
"Oh, I suppose I could go to Trelawney and tell her the telepathic field of vision that clouds my Inner Eye is getting rather annoying and blah blah blah…she'd lap it up." He trailed off as they both shared a laugh. "Seriously though, I was speaking figuratively."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So I'm not really talking about a ghost. I'm talking about-" His forehead furrowed in thought, wondering if he should tell Harry about this latest discovery. "I'm talking about Hermione."  
  
Harry's mouth dropped open as if it had come unhinged. "Erm, Harry?"  
  
"Wha…huh?"  
  
"Close your mouth up if you don't want to eat soot."  
  
"Oh yeah." Harry did so before shaking his head in disbelief. "Hermione?"  
  
"Yeah." Ron frowned suddenly, stooping to pick up a copy of Hermione's paper, which Dr. Bloth had photocopied for him. "You won't believe this. She wrote this essay for her Psychology class and it's the worst piece of dragonshit I've ever read."  
  
"You've got to be joking."  
  
"I'm not. I don't know what happened to her…listen to this." He read the thesis out to Harry, watching as his expression changed from neutrality to disbelief.  
  
"She wrote that? Why would she? I mean, look at her, attending one of the best schools, most likely top of her class…she has a running chance to be Mistress of Magic!"  
  
"And instead she's wasting her time writing this meaningless drivel. It doesn't have enough statistics behind it, not enough research or quotes from actual survivors…no attack on the flip side of things, although it would probably be hard to do seeing as…" A smart knock on the door shook him out of his tirade. "Listen, I have to go. I'll catch up with you another time, all right?" Harry's head nodded and dissapeared. Ron turned on the television, knowing that if it was a Muggle they would think he was off his rocker talking to nothing.  
  
"Hi Ron." The person on the other side of the door smiled at him seductively, blonde waves of hair swishing softly.  
  
"Oh…Kate, I totally forgot about dinner. Sorry." He offered her an apologetic smile, which she waved off.  
  
"Don't worry about it." Her eyes roved over him blatantly. "Did you get all the papers done or do you… need some help?"  
  
"I'm still working on them. But I'm fine, thanks," Ron replied firmly.  
  
"Oh." She smiled that seductress smile again. "I'll be right down the hall if you need me." And with that, Kate Blythe tapped him on the chest and walked away, hips swinging under a most revealing set of witch's robes.  
  
"Women…" He turned away from the door, walking towards the large picture window. He pulled open the curtains, exposing the drizzly, wet night sky. The stars shone weakly, faint twinklings shrouded by the clouds. Ron propped himself up with an arm, his forehead pressed softly against the cold glass. He always felt cold. Even when he was with his family the cold was there, if not more present. All of his siblings had their own families, wives who loved them and kids that idolized their dads and mums. The cold was still there, piercing through sinew, muscle and bone to wrap around his very soul and capture it with its icy breath. With a harsh scoffing noise, he turned away abruptly. "Getting angsty..."  
  
He thought he knew who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with…perhaps he still knew. But she had run away before he had gotten the chance to show her how it could be between them. In the years following her departure, Ron was tortured by the ghost of what could have been. Hermione's words that rainy night in June deadened him to the world for many long, lonely years. After that day, she had tried to get things back to normal between them, but it just wouldn't happen. All those times that Ron had been so convinced of...something between them. The rain fell in sheets now, and he could hear it pounding upon the pavement, little bullets of liquid.  
  
Ron hated rainy days. 


	3. Denial Isn't Just a River in Egypt-Revis...

A/N: Erm...I know the past few chapters have been really short. Sorry (thanks to SummerShines for telling me)...so now I'll put this up right away to make up for it. I also combined chapters two and three.  
  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling's except for Bloth and the plot.  
  
  
  
  
  
I know I stand in line  
  
until you think you have the time  
  
to spend an evening with me  
  
  
  
And if we go some place to dance  
  
I know that there's a chance  
  
you won't be leaving with me  
  
  
  
And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place  
  
and have a drink or two  
  
And then I go and spoil it all  
  
by saying something stupid  
  
like 'I love you'...  
  
  
  
-'Something Stupid', Robbie Williams with Nicole Kidman  
  
  
  
  
  
"Mr. Weasley disagreed quite strongly with your theories, Miss Granger." Hermione turned blank eyes onto her paper. It was awash with red. There were editing symbols scattered about, coupled with phrases like 'awkward sentence structure', 'lopsided argument', and 'not enough statistics'.  
  
'When did Ron get so smart?' She wondered. In her daze, she noticed that her inky fingers had left prints on the parchment. She barely heard her professor's droning; it was rather like a faint buzzing in her ear than anything else.  
  
"...working for The Daily Prophet, he WOULD be the type to spot these things, Hermione. Don't be too hard on yourself." Had her ears stopped functioning correctly?  
  
"He works for The Daily Prophet?" Dr. Bloth looked a tad irritated.  
  
"Yes...I just said that...Anyway, he mostly writes on the Dark Wizard trials that are still going on...I think he's also a correspondant on the Chudley Cannons front as well. If I recall correctly, their editor-in-chief placed him in the news department when he first signed on. He's friends with all the right people; the Potters, Finnigans, Malfoys...although why the Prophet would want to interview that Pansy woman, I have no idea." He looked down on her sternly before his face relaxed into a benign smile. "Well, I'll leave you to your writing." As he left Hermione heaved a huge sigh of relief, her mind switching gears again. She didn't get The Daily Prophet; express owls were sent across the Atlantic just to get it there on time, so it had an exorbitant subscription rate. Consequently, Hermione had subcribed to a local paper, The Weekly Overseer. It was much cheaper, but she missed the high-quality writing of the superior British paper. Turning her attention back onto her work, Hermione's eyes scanned the battlefield of cross-outs and corrections, stopping on a small note scribbled hastily towards the bottom of the page:  
  
Dinner? Circle your answer. YES NO  
  
Rolling her eyes, Hermione picked up her quill, poised over the word 'no'. But then some notes slipped out of her folder. Ron's thinly-veiled taunt about denial and running away glared back at her in her own handwriting, complete with a bullet and explanation following it. "Ron Weasley, get ready to feel my wrath." A hunter-green circle looped itself neatly around 'yes,' and she watched as the ink slid around, forming new words.  
  
I'll pick you up at seven. Wear some nice Muggle thing.  
  
Curious, Hermione waited for the ink to move back to the original words and then circled 'no'.  
  
I'll come around at seven. Wear something nice.  
  
"I should have known."  
  
**********  
  
"Whoa! What are you up to tonight?" Hermione's roommate, Angela McVicker, grinned at her from the doorway.  
  
"Catching up with an...old friend." She picked up a vial of sweetly scented perfume, a soft flowery fragrance that brought to mind early spring mornings. She sprayed it across her pulse points generously. Her reflection looked back at her with a satisfied expression and Hermione barely checked a conspiring smile. Nutmeg-brown curls framed her face, sleek and shiny. Just the right amount of makeup...she particularly liked her lip gloss; (a CliniWitch special collection item) it added a fresh, dewy texture to her soft pink lips. A cream-coloured dress framed her curves in all the right places, dipping in the front to show off a taste of cleavage, yet demure in the fact that it stopped at the knee. She liked the way she looked right now: young and innocent. Perfect. As she bent down to fasten the strappy heels onto her feet, she asked, "Am I dressed well enough?"  
  
"Hon, you look perfect." Angela gave her the thumbs-up before jamming her hands into the pocket of her Sweetwater All-Stars jumper. "But I suggest you bring a cloak, it's kinda cold." As she shrugged into a similar-colored coat, the doorbell sounded downstairs. "You stay right there, I'll get it." Hermione shot her a grateful look before going back to the coat. It wasn't a thick fabric, but she wore it nonetheless. She had just finished when the soft, polite conversation ended and the door banged open. "Oh Herm, he's to DIE for!" Her friend squealed. "It's official: I now have a fetish for red- heads. Let's go." The two headed down the stairs and entered the living room, where Ron was sitting.  
  
"Hermione." His cool, suave demeanor was something she'd have to get used to...however, that was eclipsed by what was a very male appreciation of her appearance. "You look great."  
  
"Thank you." She made sure her smile was beguilingly innocent.  
  
"Ready to go?"  
  
"Uh-huh." After a few rather innapropriate comments, ("Make sure you do EVERYTHING I wouldn't do!") Angela waved the two off. Ron was walking at an easy pace, swinging the keys of his car with his right hand. The Jaguar logo stared back at her. She was quite aware of his discreet, frequent glances in her direction, and it made her feel a little embarrased and shy. "Honestly, it's only Ron," she muttered.  
  
"Pardon? I didn't catch that."  
  
"Oh, nothing." She shook her head, coming to a stop in front of a shiny, brand-spanking-new sports car. Ron unlocked the door, opening it with a casual courtesy Hermione found she rather liked. A moment later they were on the road.  
  
She didn't break the silence at first, being too busy studying his features. Street lights and moonbeams played across his face, which had been sculpted quite favorably by time. It was no longer the face of a harsh, clumsy, tumultuous young teenager, but the face of an sure, intelligent, and lethally handsome man. Hair short and a little bit spiky, yet by the looks of it soft...still divinest Weasley-red. His black suit was a study in good taste; obviously tailor-made, it emphasized a cut, fit physique. The wiryness had filled out a bit. Her eyes flicked back to his face and from her first glance she knew he was enjoying the fact she had spent a long time doing nothing but stare at him.  
  
"So where are we headed to?" Ron was too busy changing lanes to answer at first. But once they reached La Jolla Village Drive, he answered. "A friend of mine lives in Torrey Pines, and I asked her to recommend some good restaurants. I booked us a table at an Italian place." He honked the horn angrily as they were cut off. "I hate driving. Especially since Americans drive on the other side of the road."  
  
"So why'd you drive? To show off this expensive car?" He flashed her a grin and turned down another street. "I know where we're going...it must be Shores. Right next to the beach, am I correct?"  
  
"Full marks. Go to the top of the class." After this small gibe they lapsed into silence again.  
  
"You know...you could've just asked me about restaurants." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards.  
  
"Yeah, well...I'm a big boy now and I don't need Hermione to give me all the answers anymore."  
  
"I never gave you answers!"  
  
"Oh yeah." His voice took on a high falsetto tone. "'If you didn't PROCRASTINATE until the last minute, Ronald Jeffrey Weasley, then you wouldn't need ME to give you any answers. Besides, it's HIGHLY unethical, and as Head Girl I have a responsibility-" He shortened his 'tirade' at Hermione's glare. "'HONESTLY.'" The sight of his sparkling blue eyes induced her to giddy laughter as they pulled into the parking lot. "Well, we're here."  
  
*********  
  
Hermione watched the bubbles rise to the top of her glass of champagne. Since Ron was footing the bill, she didn't really feel the need to scrimp on this meal. She picked at her appetizer, occaisionally spearing something on the end of her fork.  
  
"How's DeWalin treating you? Number one student, I expect." She shrugged nonchalantly, hiding the embarassment well.  
  
"Yes, I am, actually...how's The Daily Prophet?" Ron looked surprised.  
  
"How'd you know I worked there?"  
  
"Bloth told me." He nodded, frowning a bit.  
  
"That guy...he really LOOKS like he'd be named Bloth, doesn't he? All pudgy and red and pimply, with all that white hair on top. Actually, now that I think about it, he looks more like a strawberry gone moldy." Hermione snorted with laughter, but quickly contained herself and shot him a glare. "What? He does...oh, it's that 'respect your professors' junk. Look, in college I made fun of all my teachers, sometimes right to their faces, and I still graduated."  
  
"You went to college?"  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, I went to college. Do you think the Prophet hires people right off the street?"  
  
"Sorry." A fiery red eyebrow lifted upwards lazily.  
  
"What's this? Hermione Granger actually apologizing for something?"  
  
"I do when I'm wrong."  
  
"I guess you HAVE changed." This wasn't going at all like she wanted.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"What do you think? You're a smart girl." They were interrupted by the waiter, who set down their main courses and refilled their glasses. At her refusal to answer him Ron deftly changed the subject. "So how's life in general? Having fun?"  
  
"Yes, I am, actually. It's great living on your own-"  
  
"With no restrictions holding you down." She looked up, surprised.  
  
"Yeah." The soft clicking of high heels grew louder as another couple was seated a few tables away. "What about you? Started your own brood?"  
  
He gave a look she couldn't even begin to decipher. "No. No mini-Weasleys from me." A muscle in his jaw worked. "No wife either." For some reason Hermione flushed under his intense gaze.  
  
"That's too bad. All the girls are missing out on something great."  
  
"But not good enough for you."  
  
"Ron..."  
  
"Sorry. Just got a little carried away. Forget I said anything." The rest of the meal was peppered with polite conversation. Ron watched people dancing to the slow beat of a mini-orchestra on the patio outside. "It's a pavane."  
  
"A what?" She followed his gaze to the couples.  
  
"A pavane." He stood up suddenly, holding out a hand. "Care to dance?"  
  
"All right." Hermione slipped her hand into his, a small electic charge shooting up her arm from this seemingly harmless contact. Once they were dancing it intensified. It was delicious, how nicely his hand fitted into the small of her back and how she could lean her head on his shoulder...just like that...it was perfect. "I haven't danced like this in ages." Her voice came out as a husky whisper next to his ear and she could feel his muscles tense a bit.  
  
"I did, just last week." She lifted her head to look at him. He was trying to maintain composure.  
  
"Really? I think dancing's rather intimate...if you're with the right person."  
  
"Hermione." This time he was determined. "What are you playing at?"  
  
"Who said anything about playing?" He cupped her chin, tilting her face upwards.  
  
"Stop this."  
  
"Stop what?"  
  
"Stop...stop baiting me."  
  
"Ron, we're both normal young adults. Surely you can handle a little flirting?"  
  
"Sure, I can handle flirting...but not from you." She stepped back a little. The pads of his fingertips brushed across her waist as he let her go, sending another tingle through her. "Oh, and now you're backing away?" She walked away quickly.  
  
"Would you mind taking me home?" Hermione had rushed down the steps leading to the beach, and she wrapped her arms around herself defensively.  
  
"Apparate." He walked down to the water's edge. "I'm staying here." He removed his shoes and socks, shrugging out of his jacket afterwards. With his shirtsleeves rolled up and pants cuffed to the knee, he looked younger and more vulnerable.  
  
"I can't." He turned to look at her.  
  
"Yes you can. Step one: lift wand. Step two: think of destination. Step three-"  
  
"I can't concentrate hard enough." She sat down on the soft sand. "I'll wait until you're done." Ron made no reply, only plopped down next to her.  
  
"Your hair looks nice." He tucked a couple of escaped curls behind her ear. "But I like it best when you just leave it alone."  
  
"Ron, don't."  
  
"Huh? You don't want me to compliment you?"  
  
"That's not what I mean and you know it."  
  
"I've heard that somewhere before." He sifted some of the sand through his fingers. "Plaigarism's a bad thing, 'Mione. You could get sued."  
  
"So? I'm not scared of anything."  
  
"You're scared of me."  
  
"Scared of you? Don't make me laugh." She scooted closer to him until there was barely an inch separating them. "Nothing can shake me."  
  
"Not even mountain trolls?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Liar. You were about to keel over. But then again, that could've been from the stench." Hermione laughed. "Seriously though...why are you scared of me?"  
  
"I thought we proved this already. I'm not scared of you...I guess I'll have to show you then, won't I?" And with that she kissed him. Caught off- guard, Ron nearly toppled to the ground. She found herself deepening it further. It was a draining, passionate, sensual kiss, the kiss of a man who had held himself in check for too long. His mouth ravaged hers and she pressed herself against him, earning a harsh groan from Ron before she pulled away and slapped him across the face.  
  
"Ouch! What the hell was that for?"  
  
"I...I DON'T KNOW!" She stumbled up, wand hand poised.  
  
"Hermione...Hermione, wait."  
  
"Leave me alone, Ron!"  
  
"Let me take you home. You could get splinched. You're not in any condition to Apparate."  
  
"Don't tell me what to do." She raised her wand hand.  
  
"There are Muggles here; they'll see you." He reached out to grab the wand from her hand.  
  
"Don't touch me." He recoiled.  
  
"What? Do I repulse you all of a sudden?"  
  
"YES! My life was fine, going smooth until YOU came here and messed up everything!" She turned away. "You make me so confused."  
  
"It doesn't have to be this way with us, Hermione. I...I still love you. You know that, don't you?" Their argument was interrupted by another voice.  
  
"Hermione? Hermione Granger?" A man walked down towards them. "How's my favorite ex-girlfriend?"  
  
"Not very well, actually. I want to go have some fun."  
  
"I'm game."  
  
"Okay, wait for me." She collected her stuff before turning to Ron. "Ron, this is my life. I'm independent, I don't have any baggage to carry around, and I can't deal with this right now. I don't want a commitment."  
  
"You're scared and you know it."  
  
"However you want to rationalize it is fine with me. Goodbye, Ron."  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Please review! 


	4. Investigative Reports...Ron Weasley Styl...

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing, particularly the peeps who have been putting them up after every chapter. I'm so grateful, you don't know how much it helps! It's always so much funner to write if there are people actually reading it. =) BTW…if anyone has any songs that would pertain to the basic plot of the story, please e-mail me the lyrics (I like to put the relevant ones in the beginnings of the chaps., if you haven't noticed. Thanks to the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh power!…That's a lot, I think.  
  
Disclaimer: Rowling's stuff you'll recognize. Mine you won't.  
  
  
  
Here is my confession  
  
May I be your possesion?  
  
Boy, I need your touch  
  
your love, kisses, and such  
  
With all my might I try  
  
but this I can't deny...  
  
  
  
And I play it off but I'm dreaming of you  
  
and I keep it cool but I'm freakin'...  
  
  
  
I try to say goodbye and I choke  
  
Try to walk away and I stumble  
  
Though I try to hide it  
  
It's clear  
  
My world crumbles when you are not near...  
  
  
  
  
  
-'I Try,' Macy Gray  
  
  
  
  
  
"Ugh…" Hermione rolled out of bed the next morning with a splitting headache. She had been out clubbing way too long, getting home at two in the morning. She had tried to forget about what had happened the other night; it didn't work as the brief, passionate kiss she and Ron had shared still etched into her mind. Running her hands down her wrinkled dress, she frowned at the stain marring it. Obviously a shot of Firewhiskey. Her hair was in elegant disarray, rich chestnut curls spilling out from the sleekness of the other night. She winced as she passed her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was mostly gone, leaving a much more natural face than she was used to seeing. Slipping out of her dress, she rummaged around in her chest of drawers and pulled out a large button-down men's shirt that one of Angela's brothers or something had left there a couple of years ago. She ran a tired hand through her tousled hair and trudged towards the kitchen. "Need caffeine…and food. Mmm, food." Summoning a bagel and some fruit towards her, she set the coffee maker and gathered her copy of the Overseer from the owl that had been tapping at her window for the past half- hour.  
  
"Coffee doesn't go very well with that," her roomate said as she pushed open the front door, laden down with bags. "You only just woke up? It's almost noon."  
  
Hermione shrugged. "I stayed out a little too long last night." Angela dropped her purchases onto the ground, sitting down across from her at the table.  
  
"So how'd it go with Ron?"  
  
"Not very well. He insisted on dredging up stuff from our past that I'd really prefer to not talk about." She chewed on a piece of bagel thoughfully. "He says I'm in denial. I think it's the other way around." The coffee machine clicked off as Hermione padded over to it, pouring herself a generous mugful.  
  
"Really?" Angela twisted a strand of blonde hair around her index finger. "Since you won't tell me what kind of stuff he insisted on talking about, I can't really comment on that, Herms. Sorry." She leaned over and snatched a grape before sliding one of the bags to her. "I got you something too, to thank you for letting me borrow those blue dress robes."  
  
"You didn't have to." Nevertheless, Hermione pulled out the package curiously. Wrapped in tissue paper were some crisp new men's dress shirts. She laughed.  
  
"You always take them from my brothers when they come over, so I thought I'd get you some of your own."  
  
"Oh, that's just because I love them so much. How are they doing, anyway?" Two of Angela's three brothers worked in the American Ministry of Magic; the other was a reserve on the Fitchburg Finches quidditch team.  
  
"Well, Travis and Tom are still toiling away at the Ministry. Mark might be bumped up from the reserves soon; it depends on whether or not their star Seeker'll recover from his bout of quidditch elbow. Broke his arm about eight times already." Hermione looked horrified. "Don't worry, I don't think he'll catch it…you know, he thinks you're cute. Should I set you two up?"  
  
"Erm…let me think about it." Her eyes looked strained and troubled as she stared down into the brown depths of her coffee. "Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy-"  
  
"Actually, he isn't. But he has had a crush on you for a while, and I thought you might want to get to know him a bit. It's okay though." Angela pulled a face. "He has groupies throwing themselves at him right and left…he was Witch Weekly's number two most beautiful person last year."  
  
"Who was number one?"  
  
"It was a tie between Kirley McCormack…you know, the guitar player? And that one Gladrags model, Ginny Weasley."  
  
"Ginny Weasley?" A wistful smile tugged at Hermione's lips. "We were friends at Hogwarts."  
  
"Pity you didn't keep in touch with anyone from over there."  
  
"There weren't many left to keep in touch with," she replied bluntly, sending her dishes to the sink, where they automatically began cleaning themselves. "The Final Confrontation decimated us."  
  
"Oh God, Herm…I'm so sorry-"  
  
"It's alright. It happened a long time ago." She flashed her a smile, speaking firmly in a tone that implied finality. "It all happened in the past and that's where it'll stay."  
  
*********  
  
"So how did that affect your relationship with your family?" Ron sat in the courtyard of DeWalin, Turbo-Speed Notetaking Quill freshly inked and ready to go.  
  
"Well, they weren't sure if I should come or not…they're really overprotective and at the time, the Voldemort Reign was still in full swing. It took a lot of convincing on my part to get them to let me come here." Ron's hand, aided by the quill, zipped across the paper. His mouth was turned up in one corner, forming into his trademark lopsided smile. Despite his need to remain serious, this kind of gentle digging for answers excited him. Journalism turned out to be the push Ron needed to excel in school. The inquisitive attitude and forwardness needed in the profession was already a part of his personality; he just needed to focus it in one direction.  
  
"Ah…but you still felt safe here once term started, correct?" The girl blushed as she looked into his intense blue eyes.  
  
"Somewhat. I mean, Death Eaters got into Hogwarts, right? If they could break in there, they could do it anywhere. I just made sure I was on guard all the time and cast protective spells around myself at night. I don't know if it would have been effective against dark magic, but it made me feel safer." At the mention of Hogwarts, Ron went quite still. Images of the gory, mangled bodies of the dead flitted through his head. Dean Thomas, Colin Creevey, Professor Snape, Nurse Pomfrey and countless more…all dead. He could still see his ashen-faced friends watching as the caskets of families, lovers, and confidants were lowered to the ground. Every single funeral was excruciating to witness. "Are you okay?"  
  
He shook himself. "Yeah, I'm fine…er…" He looked back down at his notes. "Denise." The girl smiled at him sympathetically, taking his hand in hers.  
  
"You're British, right? So you went to Hogwarts…I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me." He made a motion with his other hand as if to wave it off. "Oh, you know who you should interview? Hermione Granger. She went to Hogwarts too…do you know her?"  
  
"Oh, Ron and I are old friends." The aforementioned young woman was presently standing in front of their bench, staring down at them. It wasn't noticable to the casual observer, but Hermione's eyes were flashing in anger and…was it jealousy? "I'm willing to do the interview if you want one."  
  
Ron wasn't a casual observer. He (quite deliberately) squeezed Denise's hand, thanking her for her time. The girl blushed again and quickly excused herself, gesturing for Hermione to seat herself.  
  
"Was that some kind of lame pick-up technique? 'Let me interview you and by the way, can I get your number?'"  
  
"No, it wasn't." He frowned down at his hands. "I was talking to her about the Voldemort years." Hermione flinched; not from the name but from the memories it evoked.  
  
"Why can't you people put the past in the past?" Her eyes were shooting daggers at him, but instead of cowering under that gaze he sat up straighter and looked squarely back at her.  
  
"For the same reason there's a History of Magic class. To learn from what happened in the past and make sure it doesn't happen again."  
  
"Yes, but it's all still fresh in our minds."  
  
"No, really?" Ron shook his head in disbelief. "In case you forgot, I was there too. I experienced the same things you did, but came away with a different perspective on it." He sat back, looking at her sideways. "You always used to drone about gaining perspective on life…I can't think of anything more life-altering than the Voldemort years." Hermione said nothing. "Were you serious-you know-about the interview?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "I forgot how the journalist's mind works. Empathizing and sympathetic on the outside, canniving and blunt on the inside."  
  
He frowned. "I know many people in my profession that care deeply about the public. They've made it their life's work to enlighten them about issues that they should be informed of. You have to be blunt around some people that are stubborn or won't give you the truth-"  
  
"What YOU think is the truth," she injected testily. "Don't you remember Rita Skeeter? And what does Harry think of all this? Does he know about your job?"  
  
Ron sighed. "Rita Skeeter worked for Witch Weekly…of course she overexaggerated things. I can't account for every single journalist, okay? And Harry's fine with what I'm doing; in fact, I help keep articles on him to a minimum." Again Hermione was amazed by the change in him. Instead of having a blazing row about something stupid like textbooks or Yule Ball dates, they were having an (to some extent) intelligent debate about a feasible topic. "Hello? Anybody home?" Ron waved his hand in front of her face. "Earth to Hermione."  
  
"Stop it." She grabbed his hand in an effort to get it away from her face.  
  
"I didn't know you were so forward." He threw an arch glance in her direction and she blushed. Her smaller hand was enveloped by his larger one, his warm palm flat against hers. His eyes deepened in their mischevious expression. "My hand is so much bigger than yours."  
  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious."  
  
"No, it's a pick up line. After I say that, I'm supposed to do this." He gave her a smouldering look that made her knees weaken and laced his fingers through hers. "Good, huh?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, hastily extracting her hand from his. "It's corny."  
  
"But it worked. I saw your eyes widen…your knees were all wobbling even though you were sitting down." He ran a hand through his hair, which effectively made her want to do the same. "Why can't you admit the fact that you-"  
  
"We've already been through this, remember? I told you the answer to what you're going to ask in seventh year." Ron, who had been scratching at the stubble dotting his cheeks, stopped. He stared at the ground morosely.  
  
"'Mione, why do you insist on stringing me along like some puppet?"  
  
"I'm not. You're flirting with me and I'm reciprocating. It's all in good fun."  
  
"This is FUN? So you're saying you have some sadistic pleasure in leading me on?"  
  
"I'm just trying to make you see that we wouldn't fit together at all."  
  
He made an exasperated sound. "The reason we're not getting along is because you insist on being so difficult!"  
  
"Difficult? Whatever do you mean?" She offered him a saccarhine smile.  
  
"Like last night. You came downstairs all dressed up in white, looking like the innocent. Then you come on to me…hell, you KISSED me…and then you slap me and leave to go out with your ex-boyfriend."  
  
"I'm in charge of my own actions. You can construe whatever you want. I already told you, I care for you as a friend."  
  
"Oh really?" He stopped for a moment, effectively checking his temper and putting on the eager, passionately fervent attitude that had been shaped by journalism school. It was as much a facet of his persona as his red hair. "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"  
  
"I'd…well, I'd-erm…" She looked back at him helplessly. "Slap you."  
  
"Let's test that theory, shall we?" He leaned in close to her, and Hermione felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest. "Gonna slap me now?"  
  
She could feel his breath stir the hairs on her forehead. The sun set his eyes on fire, the blue lighting up and producing an electric quality. She shook her head slowly. "No." 'Dammit, dammit, dammit!' her mind screamed. He moved in still closer.  
  
"I should be kissing you now, right?" He smirked at her. "I know you want me to."  
  
'Fucking prat,' her mind scolded again. 'Two can play at this game.' "Please? If you wouldn't mind." His eyes widened in surprise. She licked her lips, then looked up at him with wide brown eyes. "Or I guess I could do it myself." She pulled away suddenly, glancing around the almost deserted courtyard. "Maybe I should just find someone else."  
  
"Hermione…"  
  
"Some older guy. Maybe a pre-med. Or…ooh, maybe pre-law."  
  
Ron's voice became more urgent. "Hermione, stop this…"  
  
"Or maybe a Quidditch player. I mean, Viktor was so polite and gentlemanly."  
  
Ron's temper flared up at the mention of Krum. "He was hideous! Looked like he had caterpillars above his eyes instead of eyebrows! He waddled around like a penguin! He couldn't even pronounce your name correctly…"  
  
"He treated me with respect."  
  
"I treated you with respect."  
  
She laughed harshly. "Always making fun of me for reading, leaving me out of things you shared with Harry, not noticing I was FEMALE until fourth year…yeah, that's really respectful." Hermione fully expected Ron to spontaneously combust, he was so red. But instead of yelling, he exhaled slowly.  
  
"Why do we always have to argue?" She looked up at him. He looked weary, self-mocking almost.  
  
"Because that's how we ARE. Can't you understand that, Ron? We're always going to argue, so logically a relationship between us wouldn't work."  
  
"Will you just for once not think logically?" He stood up, stuffing his hands into his pockets.  
  
"No."  
  
"You seem to do that with all your other boyfriends…or am I not an ordinary boyfriend?"  
  
Hermione wouldn't answer.  
  
"Ah…that's it, isn't it?"  
  
"No, it's not." She exhaled deeply. "Look, Ron…after the Confrontation, I wanted to be a normal young woman. I wanted to be independent. And I knew-" She stopped abruptly.  
  
"You knew what?"  
  
"Nothing." She changed back into the Innocent, much to Ron's annoyance. "I have to get home and finish this editorial. It's due in two weeks."  
  
He eyed the cover and a smirk flitted across his face. "What class is it for?"  
  
She stared back at him, puzzled, until a sheepish expression dawned on her face. "Print Journalism."  
  
"And you're having trouble with an editorial?" She nodded mutely. "Did Bloth tell you that my forte is writing editorials?"  
  
"You're a correspondant for the Chudley Cannons."  
  
"On the side…and those are sports editorials." He grinned at her rakishly, making her heart skip a rapid succesion of beats. "Tell you what. Let's go to a real newspaper office and we can see how it's really done."  
  
Her mouth dropped open. "But you work for a British paper…"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "We can Apparate, remember? Or do you still not feel up to it?" She shot him the patented Hermione Granger Death Glare.  
  
"I can Apparate fine, thank you very much."  
  
"Then you'll come?" The tone of his voice was hopeful.  
  
"Yes."  
  
As they trooped to a still more deserted area of the courtyard to Apparate, Ron turned to her. "Oh, I almost forgot something…" he leaned in close. Her breath came faster all of a sudden, and it looked like he was going to kiss her. "You need your passport across borders." He zipped her bag back up (it was slung across her shoulder) and handed it to her, smirking at her obvious discomfiture.  
  
'Damn,' she thought.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Review please! 


	5. Come Fly With Me

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You guys/girls are great! Keep it up, hehehe…oh, and the whole suave!Ron thing is exactly what I was aiming for, so it's really cool that everyone picked up on that. =)  
  
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling. 'Nuff said.  
  
  
  
Once I get you up there,  
  
Where the air is rarified  
  
We'll just glide  
  
Starry eyed  
  
Once I get you up there  
  
I'll be holding you so near  
  
And you may hear angels cheer  
  
Just because we're together  
  
  
  
Weather wise it's such a kooky day  
  
Just say the words, and I'll beat the birds  
  
Down to Acapulco Bay  
  
It's perfect, for a flying honeymoon, they say  
  
Come fly with me  
  
Pack up let's fly away  
  
  
  
-'Come Fly With Me,' Robbie Williams  
  
  
  
"Passports?" The burly-looking border guard stood at the gate, blocking their path as they Apparated into the Border Crossing Station. After he stamped the 'United Kingdom' stamp (a/n: redundant!!) on them, he stepped aside and the door swung out into the road ahead. The sight of it made Hermione catch her breath lightly. She hadn't been to England in ages. Everything was so green and rural, totally unlike the suburban and city areas she frequented in the States. The uncut grass blew slightly in the air, sending up a fresh, clean smell.  
  
"It's so pretty out here." Ron made a face.  
  
"It's just a deserted farm we use to get back from the States." He leaned on the old wooden fence, elbows taking the brunt of his weight. "See, there's the barn over there. Other farmers used to bring their livestock here to graze, but since the Ministry bought it, the greenery just grows all over the place." She was still taking in her surroundings, slightly dazed.  
  
"I can't believe I'm home."  
  
"Really different from San Diego, isn't it?" A small smile was playing on her lips, and as she turned to acknowledge his statement, she again took notice of how handsome he was. Hair windblown and unkempt, his face was also gently musing. He wasn't really listening, and as they walked along the main pathway Hermione sensed that he was lost in his own thoughts.  
  
"How are we going to get to Diagon Alley from here? Apparition, right?" He seemed to come out of his trance, shaking his head a little as he smiled.  
  
"No, we're going by broom."  
  
"WHAT?" Hermione had never really liked flying; it was something she couldn't learn from a book. She had also seen Ron's flying style: wild and reckless. "There is NO way I'm flying with you, Ron Weasley." While she was busy fuming, Ron had pulled a fifty-pence piece from his pocket and transfigured it back into his broom.  
  
"Why not? I'm perfectly good on a broomstick."  
  
"We can be there in a split second if we use-"  
  
"But this way is so much more fun."  
  
She pulled out her wand. "I'll meet you at the Daily Prophet headquarters."  
  
In reply, he only kicked off, yelling back, "They won't give you clearance…And do you even know where in Diagon Alley it is?"  
  
"Well…erm…no." She pouted for a while before yelling up, "Fine! I'll ride with you! Just come down here and let me mount." His mouth twisted into a smirk and he said,  
  
"That sounded quite dirty." On realising what he meant, Hermione flushed scarlet. "What? No furious backchat? That isn't like you." She climbed onto the broom, behind him.  
  
"I couldn't think of anything to say." He gave her a teasing glance but his only reply was,  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"Yes." Ron was about to push off when he abruptly turned to her.  
  
"If you sit like that, you'll fall off." Her arms were dangling at her sides; she didn't want to wrap her arms around him and stay in that position for however long it took (she estimated about half an hour) to get to the office. "Here, switch with me." Before she could protest, she found herself sitting at the head of the broom with Ron behind her. He draped his arms loosely around her waist, causing her pulse to flutter considerably and her face redden more than it already was. "Okay, I'll kick off for you." His breath came close to her ear and she shivered in spite of herself. She held the broom in a deathgrip as he urged it into the air.  
  
After a minute, they were speeding along at a pretty good rate, the clouds white and puffy below them. Every so often, a splash of color would interrupt the idyllic blues and whites of their environment, signifying a city or town was below them.  
  
"THIS is pretty." Ron's voice, so close to her face, made her lose her concentration and they dived downwards. "Whoa!" He leaned forward, grabbing the broom and pushing it back into the clouds. "What's with you? You can't be this bad of a flyer."  
  
"You're distracting me." His hands had slid back up to her waist, but soon moved back to the polished surface of the broom as it began to waver again.  
  
"I shouldn't have let you steer," he mumbled.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Nothing." Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to turn and look at him. "Don't turn around! You'll kill us!" He swerved, narrowly avoiding an old woman with a death wish. Her ancient Cleansweep 4 trembled violently as she shook her fist at them.  
  
"Sorry," she mumbled sheepishly.  
  
"Don't worry about it." He scrutinized her grip, shaking his head. "The problem with your steering-"  
  
"My steering's usually fine…you're distracting me, that's the problem."  
  
Ron raised his voice over her whining. "-is that you grip at a slightly odd angle. Plus you're holding it too tightly." He pried her hands off of the handle with minimum difficulty, holding them in his own. "It's more like this, see?"  
  
"Oh." She felt relieved once he had put her hands in what he presumed was a good position…but he didn't let go. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Teaching you to guide better." A teenage wizard zoomed past them. "See, this whole system works sort of like a Muggle freeway. During this time, there's loads of traffic and we have to stay to one side." Hermione was too preoccupied with HIM to listen to what he was saying. The crisp scent of his cologne, mingled with aftershave and freshly laundered towels and Ron was intoxicating. She felt so comfortable wrapped in his arms, and wanted nothing more than to stay there, him steering the way. 'Don't think like that, Hermione,' the resonable voice in the back of her head warned. But it was so warm and delicious and…right, and she wasn't going to be the one to end it. "You got it now?"  
  
Despite her more practical thoughts, she found herself saying, "No, not yet. Could you repeat that?" He rolled his eyes at her, grinning a little, but he re-explained the entire shpiel just for her.  
  
"And that's it, basically...oh, but in very high winds-" he was cut off by the sound of honking traffic. "I guess we're here." Hermione's face fell like a puppet's after its strings had been cut off. "I know it's hard for you to put so much distance between us after this, so you'd better not even try."  
  
"Of all the arrogant, high-handed things to say!" She sputtered indignantly. "If you think-" But the broom was landing, and Hermione still couldn't land right. She was forced to rely on Ron to keep her from slipping off of the handle. "You'd better not drop me."  
  
"I have no intention of doing that," he replied, his eyes catching hers for a second before he focused back onto the ground. They landed with a soft bump right into the back of the Leaky Cauldron. "Perfect." She had to admit, it WAS a perfect landing...but there was no way in hell she'd tell him that. "Right then..." He counted the bricks of the wall, broomstick in one hand and wand in the other. He stepped back as the wall dividing Diagon Alley from the rest of the world melted away.  
  
"So, Almighty Journalist Extraordinare, lead the way!" She clasped her hands behind her back, walking exaggeratingly slow and primly. Her mid- length skirt flapped around her legs and her boots made soft thumping noises as she walked. Her eyes slid from store to store, eagerly taking in the changes made in them since she left. Since it was a weekday, not many people were there and she had no excuse to stand close to Ron...a fact that she secretly cursed.  
  
"It's right over here," he ushered her into what was obviously a private lane. It was a big, imposing structure flanked by Roman-style columns, rather like the Gringotts building. Only this one had a large, white, opened scroll in place of a sign. It read 'The Daily Prophet' in big gold letters.  
  
"Rather ostentatious, don't you think?" Ron had opened the door, letting her in first. A whoosh of cool air greeted them. The floor was a deep brown color, set with swirls of cream and gold. There were glass elevators leading to floors that reached up and up, all the way to what Hermione guessed was the...hundreth? floor. The doors were all old, polished wood with gold doorknobs.  
  
"It suits the paper's personality." He dug around in his pockets, searching while he talked. "I mean, we ARE a bit flashy, but that's all to catch a reader's attention. Then we get into the real meat of the story...ah, here it is." He pulled a laminated ID card out, brushing off some crumbs from the front of it. "Have to remember not to keep crumpets in here..." He handed it to the receptionist at the front desk, drumming his fingers on the countertop.  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Weasley." She smiled at him pleasantly, sliding the card into what looked to be a Muggle credit card scanner. "Let's see...you haven't been here in a while! Fifty-one messages waiting for you in your office. Kate has them all set up for you there."  
  
"Thanks," he answered cordially. She handed him back his card, and he led Hermione to one of the elevators. "Press the button for the 89th floor, would you?" She pressed the according button, commenting,  
  
"Newspaper offices don't usually have this nice of a building, do they?"  
  
"You're right, they don't...and neither do we. You'll see once we get inside." The elevator doors opened into a magnificent foyer. "This floor is all mine." He flashed her a smile. "The higher up we get, the better our accomodations. Of course, I just use most of the rooms for research. There are stacks and stacks of papers everywhere..."  
  
"Which I've just cleaned up." Ron's receptionist spoke from her desk, situated towards the middle. "And I've left all your messages on your desk." The woman eyed Hermione scrutinizingly. Her smile was artificially contrived, she could tell, and her eyes glared from under long eyelashes.  
  
"Oh...Kate, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Kate Blythe, my secretary." The two women gave each other stiff, fake greetings. Ron, being the man that he was, didn't pick up on this. Hermione felt rather sick. The other woman was obviously very beautiful, the very picture of what Hermione didn't have. Wavy blond hair that looked as if it had been spun from gold, a slim, lithe physique, gorgeous green eyes and killer fashion sense.  
  
'But I have a much better nose than she does,' she thought in satisfaction. Her comparisons ('long, non-frizzy hair…damn it') were abruptly stopped when Ron spoke.  
  
"Come into my office, 'Mione. I've got some stuff you should see." Kate's eyes narrowed at the nickname, and Hermione could feel the woman's eyes boring into her back as she followed him out of the foyer. Ron opened the door to a huge room, complete with a gigantic picture window. "Hold on, let me check my messages." As he shuffled through the sheets of paper, she looked at the photographs on his desk. One of his family when they were all still very small, taken in the front yard…Ron was clutching his teddy bear in his chubby little hand, staring in fascination at the camera. Fred and George were sporting neon green hair, similar-colored lollipops stuck into their mouths. Percy, impeccable as always even in childhood, was standing next to his parents, a smug smile plastered onto his face. Ginny was still a toddler squirming in her mother's lap, a line of drool hanging from her mouth to her bib. Bill was wearing his Hogwarts Quidditch robes, his hair shorter and no fang earring in sight. Charlie was tripping over a chicken he had stuck bits of dragonhide to. Another one of the Weasleys. This time they were all young adults. Ron was wearing what Hermione presumed was his University robes, black with a red and silver crest on it. Fred and George looked pretty much the same. Ginny, looking very beautiful, was wearing a flashy set of Gladrags Witches' Robes, smiling from ear to ear. A shiny diamond ring sparkled from her finger. Bill and Charlie also looked much the same as they did when Hermione last saw them, only Bill had finally cut his hair and Charlie was sporting a burn on the side of his cheek.  
  
"What's that big ring on Ginny's finger?"  
  
"She's engaged," Ron muttered, flipping through another message. "To Harry. No, she's not married yet-" He saw the surprised look on her face, and hastily explained it away. "You're still on the invite list, 'Mione…can't get out of it."  
  
"I wouldn't want to." To avoid his eyes, Hermione picked up another photo frame. This was of their little group at Hogwarts in the Great Hall. The three of them were in the middle. Harry, glasses slightly askew and hair as messy as it had always been, was grinning slyly at she and Ron, who were both blushing furiously…they were seated next to each other. Her hair was still bushy, she thought with a mild tinge of disgust, and several books were piled on the ground next to her. Her Prefect badge was shined up and ready to go, pinned proudly onto the front of her robes. Ron's ears were an interesting shade of purple by now, and he looked positively murderous. Seamus was sitting next to Harry, Lavender in his lap. They both had goofy smiles plastered on their faces, but they were looking at each other instead of at the camera. Dean was hopping up and down, trying to gain attention, and Parvati was powdering her nose. Neville was a blur to the side of Hermione…he had tripped over one of her books.  
  
"Shit." Ron crossed the room hurriedly, opening an owl cage. "Alright, Widge, go deliver this." He tied a letter to the owl's legs and let it out through the window. "There's breaking news right now."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Dark activity. This message was left here an hour ago. If we're lucky, we'll catch it." While he was pulling on his cloak, he asked, "D'you want to stay at my place or Apparate back home?"  
  
"You don't want me to come?"  
  
"It's dangerous."  
  
"Honestly, Ron! It can't be more dangerous than our seven years at Hogwarts!" She glared at him. "I'm coming."  
  
"I don't want you hurt."  
  
"I won't get any more hurt than you will." He sighed impatiently.  
  
"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?"  
  
"I learned from the best." He gave her a look of exasperation before caving in.  
  
"Yeah, yeah…just stick with me."He pulled out his wand. "Okay, let's go."  
  
  
  
A/N: I know this is a departure from the previous chapters, but its getting to the main plot of the story. So please review anyway, even if its not as fluffy as the other chapters!!! Thanks. 


	6. Damn Quidditch Players

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing! BTW, I know some people have been talking about the lack of fluffiness in the last chapter...the plot's kinda developing at this point, so yeah. I promise there'll be some in the next chapter, though!  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Most everything's J.K. Rowling's. The name 'Treno' is from Squaresoft's Final Fantasy 9, but in this story, it's a jenky old town instead of an upper-crust type place. Everything else is mine.  
  
  
  
Say hello to the girl that I am  
  
You're gonna have to see through my perspective  
  
I need to make mistakes just to learn who I am  
  
And I don't wanna be so damn protected  
  
There must be another way  
  
Cause I believe in taking chances  
  
But who am I to say  
  
What a girl is to do  
  
God, I need some answers  
  
  
  
What am I to do with my life  
  
How am I supposed to know what's right?  
  
I can't help the way I feel  
  
But my life has been so overprotected  
  
  
  
-'Overprotected,' Britney Spears ::smirk::  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The town they landed in was dark and imposing, with buildings that were obviously once very grand, now derelict and unused. Dead trees waved their skinny limbs feebly, as if trying to warn them. The sun was a strange beam of light in a town that was obviously full of the dark. Ron and Hermione could feel people's eyes on them, staring at them from slits in their drapes...it looked like an unfriendly place.  
  
"This is where they've been chased to, isn't it?" Hermione asked. Her entire body was tensed, and her hand was stuck into the pocket of her jacket, where her wand was.  
  
"Yeah, how'd you know?" Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
"I'm not an idiot, Ron...I know what's happening here even if I'm staying in the States." She averted her eyes from a man sitting on the steps of his front porch, his lips curled in a sneer. "This is Treno, isn't it? Reminds me of that story by Poe, 'The Fall of the House of Usher.'"  
  
"Let's just hope we don't meet a Roderick along the way," he interjected. "We're supposed to meet our contact here...he's one of the last double agents working for the Ministry. It took me a while to get his group to let him talk. " They stopped in front of a seemingly unoccupied manor. "Keep alert."  
  
"No shit, Sherlock." She clutched her robes a little more tightly around her as the wind howled towards them. Her eyes scanned the horizon, watching for the familiar black, hooded robes of the Death Eaters.  
  
  
  
After about half an hour, a tall, broad man emerged from the old building behind them. "That building needs to be demolished," he sighed.  
  
"Pity," replied Hermione. "It should be preserved as a national treasure." Ron's face twisted into one of disbelief.  
  
"How'd you know what to say, Herm-"  
  
"Herm-own-ninny. It is good to see you again." Viktor Krum's black eyes stared at the both of them from underneath his hood.  
  
"YOU're our contact?" Ron's voice was an angry whisper. "I should have known, you came from Durmstrang...school for the Dark Arts, I knew all along you weren't trustworthy-" Viktor scowled at him.  
  
"If I vasn't trustvorthy, I vouldn't be speaking to you." He turned abruptly. "Follow me."  
  
**********  
  
The building they had both assumed was abandoned and rotting was, in actuality, a gigantic palacial estate. It was gloomy, yet still elegant. Black velvet drapes hung from the windows. An old tapestry depicting scenes from Dante's 'Inferno' hung from one of the walls, while the others were wallpapered with gray tones. The furniture was overstuffed, made of the same black velvet as the draperies. Their footsteps were muffled on the black-carpeted floor. There was a black marble fireplace as well, with a larger version of the waterproof bluebell flame crackling inside. Sets of swords and spears were framed and hanging from the walls too. A grandfather clock stood in a corner, ticking ominously.  
  
"You live here?" spat Ron. "Doesn't it make you depressed?"  
  
"It's very comfortable," interjected Hermione, eager to step on his rude tirade. "It was when I stayed here during winter vacation fifth year." She watched in satisfaction as he shut up, his ears turning red. He settled for muttering angrily to himself.  
  
"Vell, my family kept this home to stay in during the winter...Bulgaria isn't exactly ze best place to be at that time. I find zis place very com- for-ta-ble." He sounded out the word carefully. "Please, zit down." Ron gave him a suspicious glare and remained standing. Hermione, however, took a seat next to him on the sofa.  
  
"Did you really join the Death Eaters?"  
  
"Vell...yes, I did." Ron looked smug at Hermione's shocked expression. "But it vasn't what you think, Herm-own-ninny. I was vorking vith Dumbledore and the British Ministry of Magic, and they needed a double agent. Their last one had veen found out and assasinated, so I volunteered for the job."  
  
"How do we know you're to be trusted?" At Ron's question, Hermione remained silent. It was a sensible thing to ask, after all.  
  
"You don't. And I don't know that you vill honor our agreement and keep me anonymous. That's ze danger of it all." The broad-shouldered man stood abruptly, clearly agitated. "That's why we must make zis as quick as possible."  
  
"That's fine with me," replied Ron. "Why did the remainder of the Death Eaters take Treno as their stronghold?" His quill was again poised over some parchment, but this time Hermione was there to see it in the flesh.  
  
"Vell, Treno was already hometown to many Dark allies...Lord Voldemort himself lived here, before launching the attack that almost killed Harry Potter when he was a baby. So anyvay, there are obviously many people that are sympathetic towards the cause."  
  
Ron fixed his eyes on his subject, ready for the next question. "Why do you think the Ministry hasn't taken any measures towards uprooting the town when it's obviously evil?"  
  
"Oh, I vouldn't say it's evil...just easily influenced. The people here were once very rich, and Voldemort promised them that he vould restore their powers if they helped him."  
  
The only sounds in the room for the next twenty minutes were the muted voices of Ron and Viktor, as well as the scratching of the quill. Ron's brash attitude towards the former Bulgarian Seeker wasn't entirely misplaced, as he WAS still technically a Death Eater.  
  
"That's it, I suppose. I'm going to turn this stuff in to the Ministry before publishing it…" He carefully avoided Viktor's eye at his next statement. "Thanks for talking to me."  
  
"You're velcome, Mr. Weasley." As he shook both Ron and Hermione's hands, his sleeve slipped a little, the garish Dark Mark now pale and white, was still clearly etched into his arm. "I suggest you go now, before anyvone gets suspicious."  
  
*********  
  
The two didn't say much as they headed back to Diagon Alley. Instead of heading back to the Prophet's HQ, Ron steered the two of them back to the road leading to the U.K.-U.S. Apparition Point.  
  
"Sorry I couldn't help you with the writing and stuff," he commented, hands stuffed into the pockets of his robes.  
  
"It's alright…at least I got to see a professional reporter in action." She gave him a rare smile, and he felt all the force of the simple compliment. When the farmhouse came into view, it was immediately obvious that something was wrong. There was a long queue of people, all impatient, some yelling. Some harassed-looking Ministry members were holding them at bay. "What's going on?" Hermione asked, catching a guard by his sleeve.  
  
"Emergency…the American Minister's just been assasinated. They think the person who did it came through here, and so the Point's shut down." Hermione swore under her breath.  
  
"How am I supposed to get home then?"  
  
"Sorry, missy, but that's not my concern." He gave an apologetic look and sauntered away.  
  
"'Not my concern,' my arse…" She looked back to see Ron watching her amusedly. "What?"  
  
"Nothing. I've just never heard you curse before."  
  
"I've heard you curse more times than I can remember."  
  
"Damn straight." He smiled at her comment ("Ron, don't swear!") before continuing. "Seriously though, d'you have a place to stay?"  
  
"Erm, no, but I suppose I can room with Ginny for a night or two…"  
  
"She lives with Harry."  
  
"What does your mum think about it?" Somehow Hermione didn't think that the conservative Mrs. Weasley would approve of her only daughter living with a man, even if it WAS Harry.  
  
"They're already getting married, what can she say?" He shrugged. "I guess she resigned herself to it…and mostly everyone else lived with their signifigant others before getting married."  
  
"Did you?" Ron didn't answer at first, but when he did his answer was brief.  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?" She pressed. "I bet Kate would if you asked her to."  
  
"What does my secretary have to do with anything?"  
  
"I didn't say she did…you're the one who's making those assumptions." Ron glared at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the horizon.  
  
"So where are you going to stay?"  
  
"The Leaky Cauldron, most likely…or I guess I could go back to Treno and ask Viktor." Ron's face grew darker, his scowl more evident.  
  
"That smarmy git? You must be out of your mind!" She looked nonchalant beside his stewing fury.  
  
"I assure you, Ron…I'm perfectly sane." She smiled at him, increasing the speed of her gait until he had to almost run to catch up to her.  
  
"Okay, I get it. You suddenly can't stand to be close to me." His face was totally unreadable.  
  
"It's not that...I just don't like to hear one of my friends slandered like that."  
  
"You consider that...that...THING a friend?"  
  
"I've had enough." She began to run-walk again.  
  
"Alright, alright!" He put on a burst of speed and easily caught up with her. He swerved to the left, blocking her path and grabbing her by the shoulders so she would stay put. "Listen, what I was trying to get to is...you can always just stay with me."  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Next chapter is full of fluff, I warn you! 


	7. Ron Gets Shunted...Again

A/N: Aagh! ::Is going through fluff withdrawal:: Need fluff! ::collapses but is quickly revived by Fred and George(hehe):: This chapter will be fluffy, hopefully…if you can call it that. BTW, I got so many more reviews than I expected for that last chapter!! Thanks SO much! (BTW, circinius and wmlaw; you two are two of my favorite authors! I'm so happy you took the time to read my insignifigant little ficcy!)  
  
A/N #2: There's also a sentence or two of French in here. Please excuse my lack of accent marks, as I don't have a keyboard that does that. And I know my conjugation and spelling are bad, for anyone that can read the language. Blame it on my French teacher ::glares at Mr. Schmidt, who gave her a 'C' in French 3-4::  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Everything familiar belongs to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
  
  
I know you mean well  
  
But looking at you, one can't tell  
  
You've got changes to make  
  
'Cause the way you treat me just ain't right  
  
Always fronting on someone  
  
but never think about the damage you've done to me  
  
And it's about damn time I talk about it  
  
  
  
Everytime I do for you  
  
You turn around and make me feel like a fool  
  
with your actions  
  
So much for the words  
  
Baby, I love you  
  
  
  
But now I've wised up, girl  
  
It's time for me to go  
  
You better think about it  
  
'Cause I'm here to let you know…  
  
  
  
-'Don't Say,' Jon B.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Stay with you?" Hermione repeated faintly. She didn't want to think of what could happen if she stayed there, alone, with Ron. Too many possibilities..."You don't have to go through all that trouble, Ron. I'll be fine at the Leaky Cauldron."  
  
"It's no trouble." Ron eyed her, crystalline blue eyes watching her awkwardly tucking her hair behind her ears and smoothing her jacket down. "And what's the big deal, anyway? You said there was nothing between us; what would spending the night under the same roof matter?" She didn't say anything in response, only shrugged.  
  
"I suppose." Glancing at him, she continued. "But then again, I could just fly home."  
  
Ron snorted. "No offense, but I wouldn't trust you on a broom after that trip to Diagon Alley. You could fall into the Atlantic or something."  
  
"Merlin, Ron, don't patronize me."  
  
"I'm not patronizing you, I'm just watching out for you." At this Hermione shut up; it would be churlish to continue arguing with him any longer.  
  
"All right then, if you put it that way." She looped her arm through his, much to Ron's surprise. "I'd be glad to stay with you."  
  
"Hmmrgh." He made an indistinct sound, the tips of his ears slowly turning red. "Good."  
  
*********  
  
"Alors! Ma maison est a gauche de la rue de la Montague." Ron pointed out the cluster of apartments nearby.  
  
"Tu parles Francais?" Hermione was surprised.  
  
"Erm...what I just said was all I can say in French." He grinned sheepishly. "And 'Merte!' because I knew a French transfer kid from school." He pulled a set of keys from his pocket, stopping at the doorstop of one apartment.  
  
"Ah, tu est tres, tres bete."  
  
"Eh?" Pushing open the door, he held it open for Hermione to preceed him. "What does that mean?"  
  
She smirked. "You don't want to know." She untucked her arm from his and looked around. "Pretty nice place." It wasn't anything grand, just a roomy flat with a nice view out of the living room window.  
  
"Yeah, I try." He pulled off his cloak, rubbing at the back of his neck. Kicking his shoes off, he then proceeded to plop onto the couch. "Make yourself at home."  
  
The words were rather ironical to Hermione. Had her answer to Ron's question all those years ago been different, this probably WOULD have been her home. She had to admit, it wasn't what she would have expected of Ron. She thought he would be another Arthur Weasley, working at the Ministry and tinkering around in his tool shed while his wife raised a gigantic brood of kids. Not that she didn't admire what Arthur and Molly had done with their lives, but she knew it wasn't for her.  
  
'And it probably isn't what Ron wants, either.' Hermione was shocked by her train of thought.  
  
"I thought you were on my side!"  
  
'I have your best interests at heart, love.'  
  
"Don't call me love."  
  
'What's with you and your strange antipathy towards anything vaguely resembling love?'  
  
"Don't say the word!"  
  
"What word?" Ron had gotten up from the couch, watching her with a strange mix of fascination and horror written on his face. "Don't tell me you've started talking to yourself."  
  
"Was I talking to myself?" She shook her head. "Maybe I'm just tired." She didn't want to have to deal with everything that could happen if she allowed herself to stay here, with him. "Where's the guest room?"  
  
"It's over there." Ron gestured to one of the doors in the hallway. "But are you really that tired?" He cast a wary look at the rapidly blackening sky outside.  
  
"It looks like there'll be a storm tonight," she hedged in reply, making towards the previously mentioned room. "I'd better get to bed before it gets too loud." Before she could get there, however, Ron blocked her path, fingers closing around her wrist. She tried to shake him off, glaring up at him.  
  
"What is it about me that repulses you so much?" He asked, eyes flashing. "You look almost frightened. Or do you not want to know what might happen if you stay here with me?" Hermione gasped almost inaudibly. Ron had inadvertently stuck a chord, and it made her lash out.  
  
"What the-hell-are you talking about? Unlike most of the other women in your life-"  
  
"There are no other women in my life!" His voice, louder and angrier than before, countered her statement. "Don't you get it? There's never been any other woman who's touched me the way you did, Hermione. No other woman was...well...was you-"  
  
"Spare me the sentimentality, please." She jerked her wrist out of his grasp violently. "I don't want to hear any of this. I know you started to show an interest in me during Fourth Year. But it was nothing, it was an infatuation and that's what it probably still is. You thought, 'well, she's my best female friend, we get on well enough, I have the best chances with her. Why the hell not?' Now that you've found who you are, you've become a successful person. Find someone who can actually satisfy your needs."  
  
"What makes you think you know what I need?" He asked harshly.  
  
"Because I've known you since you were a snot-nosed little First Year at Hogwarts! You need someone who'll be there for you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Someone who'll laugh at all your jokes, raise all of your kids, attend all of your little journalist galas, and pick up after all of your messes. Sorry, but that's not me."  
  
Ron had been listening to this with an increasingly angry expression on his face. "So that's what you think I want?" She nodded curtly. "And you get all of this based on your friendship with me?" Another nod. "Then I think you don't really know me at all." She gaped at him, mouth slightly open. "Think about it, Hermione. You last took leave of me in Seventh Year. I was what...eighteen, nineteen? Obviously I was immature. And insecure. And you're right, that's probably what would have been best for me at the time. But what you just described to me is definately not what I need now. And God knows I've tried to have a go with those types of girls." He stepped closer to her. "Let me tell you what I need." She tried to step to the side of him, to get away, but he wouldn't budge. "I need someone who would sacrifice their life to save me, and someone who I would gladly lay my life down for. Someone who understands my insecurities and shares her own with me. Someone who would stand her own ground in an argument, just because she believed that she was right and I should know." A wistful smile flitted across his face before it straightened again. "Someone with curly brown hair that gets bushy the second it's dried out...who helped me study for a test the night before it was scheduled, even though she had already done it, just so I could pass. Someone who cared enough about House Elves to keep plugging for their freedom even when no one would listen. Someone who's horrible at chess, but keeps on trying to beat me, just so she can say she's done it." Hermione felt light-headed, almost dizzy as she listened to him. "I need YOU, Hermione. I need you so much it's killing me." She fought back the insatiable longing that was compelling her to succumb to this fervent plea, choking it down. A strangled sound escaped her throat, but nothing else for a while. Then she spoke.  
  
"Ron, please...please don't do this. It's not right for either of us." Before he could interrupt, she continued. "Have you ever read Confucius?"  
  
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"Just answer my question."  
  
Ron looked puzzled, but still answered, avoiding her gaze. "Yeah. Yeah, I have."  
  
Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, confused with the myriad of emotions coursing through her. "Then you've read this proverb. Immature love says 'I love you because I need you.' Mature love says 'I need you because I love you.'" Her voice trembled as she spoke, but she soon regained her composure. "I can't commit to what we have, Ron. I want to, but I can't. It's unhealthy and unstable and it's not what I want." Slowly, slowly his eyes looked up to meet hers. She looked away.  
  
"You're doing this to me again?" There was no reply for a while. Then she spoke.  
  
"I think...I think I'm going to go to bed now." The door shut softly behind her, leaving Ron to stand alone, flabbergasted and more than a little frustrated. 


	8. ...blank...

can't delete this chapter, so this meaningless drivel is here. just ignore it. 


	9. Of Morning People and Maroon Sweaters

A/N: WOOHOO! 100 reviews!!! I've been working on Journalism articles, which I guess would explain the long wait between chapters. Sorry, I know it sucks to wait for a new chapter to pop up. BTW, to all of you who browse the FictionAlley boards, there's a small reference to the H/H ship here; I had to lampoon it somehow…and no, I DIDN'T mean that figuratively.  
  
A/N #2: This story's been archived at the Sugar Quill! Chapter one, anyway. The story will probably be revised as I go on, so check out the other chapters in the coming weeks to see if anything's changed.  
  
Disclaimer: Too lazy...JK Rowling…comprende?  
  
  
  
  
  
"Is that your final answer?" The blue light emitted by the television illuminated Ron's room, casting a strange, artificial glow onto everything. Ron leaned back in his chair, glaring at the television.  
  
"No, it's Robbie Williams, you daft idiot." The host's face filled the screen, causing Ron to snort in disgust and change the channel.  
  
"The number one rental movie in 2002 was 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone,' starring Daniel Radcliffe as Harry, Emma Watson as his friend Hermione Granger, and Rupert Grint as his other best friend Ron Weasley. Here's a clip." He watched the scene disinterestedly.  
  
"UP! UP! UP-"  
  
"Hey!" He started indignantly. 'Ron' felt his nose gingerly, telling 'Harry' to shut up. "They swear I'm the village idiot or something. No more telly for me." He stood up so abruptly he knocked over the chair he'd been sitting in, crossing the room in a few short strides. He walked down the hallway, pausing briefly at Hermione's door. No sound could be heard.  
  
He sighed and moved on, arriving at last to his kitchen. Nothing in the fridge except for a cold slice of pumpkin pie. "Disgusting." He shut it again, and ended up just sitting at the table with some crisps. His mind drifted back to the row they'd had earlier. Did she really think that his interest stemmed only from the fact that she was his best female friend? He frowned at the thought. He crunched his way though another few crisps, but swallowed hastily as he heard footsteps fast approaching. Coughing and pounding lightly on his chest, he found himself staring. "Hermione?" His voice was tenative.  
  
"Oh, hello Ron." She didn't meet his eyes, toying with the frayed edge of the much-too-large maroon sweater she was wearing. He recalled dimly that he had dumped all of his old clothes into the guest room closet. She caught him looking and said, "I hope you don't mind…I was cold."  
  
'Don't gape, Ron, don't gape.'  
  
"It's no problem." The strange formality was suddenly very stifling to him. He felt the urge to go and shake her, but firmly resisted the temptation. "What are you doing up so late? I thought you had went to bed."  
  
She shrugged. "I'm not very sleepy…Had too much on my mind."  
  
"Really? I thought you had made it very clear that you wanted to go to bed." She scanned his face quickly, but he kept his expression neutral. "I remember at Hogwarts you always stormed into the girls' dormitories after we had a row."  
  
"People change."  
  
"I guess they do." To his great surprise, she sat down across the table from him. The sweater slipped over her shoulder, exposing a bit of bare skin. He hastily averted his eyes from even that very safe spot and ended up staring at the framed set of his Chocolate Frog cards hanging from the wall. "I'd better go; have to get an early start tomorrow."  
  
As Ron left, he caught a glimpse of Hermione staring out the window. Her face was cupped in her hands, and she was staring thoughtfully out of the window.  
  
********  
  
The first thing that Ron saw the next morning was a gigantic owl hovering above his bed, a copy of the Prophet firmly in its grasp. He groaned, rolling over and covering his head with the comforter. He got a sharp nip on his ankle for his trouble. "Bloody company owls..."  
  
"If you'd wake up earlier, they wouldn't bother you as much." Kate's soft voice startled Ron; he sat straight up in bed, running a hand through his tousled hair.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
One of her finely-shaped eyebrows shot up. "We have an interview with the American foreign ambassador. Their Minister was killed yesterday, in case you didn't know."  
  
"I was at the US-UK Apparition point last afternoon and they told me what had happened...Hermione was really angry."  
  
Kate just managed to hide a roll of the eyes. "That woman you brought into the office yesterday? How did she get home?"  
  
"She's here, asleep."  
  
This time she shot him a derisive look. "Are you still clinging to the past?"  
  
"That's not it," he shot back hastily. "You don't know anything about what happened between us."  
  
"I do know that she rejected any chance of you being together in seventh year...I was a Ravenclaw, and we were assigned to dredge the lake for any debris the last Death Eater attack might have left."  
  
His temperature rose. "So you were eavesdropping?"  
  
"No, I was downwind. I couldn't help but hear it." The quality of her voice turned silky smooth as she said, "I think you should move on...you deserve much better than a woman who is obviously not interested in you."  
  
Ron made no reply. He pushed the covers off of himself, grabbing a spare set of robes that were hanging from the back of his chair on the way. "I think I should get going...why were you sent, again?"  
  
She smiled wryly. "To make sure you didn't forget the interview. You caused quire the scandal yesterday, bringing her in without announcement. I think you forgot that most of the employees went to Hogwarts... they're all keen on knowing what's going to happen between you two."  
  
"It's none of their business," he said shortly, shutting the door to the bathroom. A moment later he emerged clad in his work robes, collared shirt a little rumpled.  
  
"The news editor gave me this set of questions for you to ask the ambassador. He said to add whatever you'd like to it."  
  
"All right."  
  
"He also said to go over any background information you may have on the situation."  
  
He swore under his breath. "I have some files on it, but they're back at the office. You didn't bring them, by any chance?"  
  
She brandished the set of files. "I suggest you go over these before-"  
  
"I go to the embassy, I know. I think you're forgetting who the writer is here." He flashed her a strained smile before gesturing for her to follow him.  
  
  
  
In only a few minutes the coffee table in the living room was covered with papers, Ron reading through them as fast as he could, Kate struggling to resort them into managable piles. He exhaled deeply. "I hate doing research."  
  
"I know." The two of them looked up, startled, at the third voice that had intruded into the conversation. Hermione was leaning against the doorway casually. She watched Kate's effort to clean up the table with a derisive eye. "You'd better leave those like they are. I think they're set that way for a reason."  
  
"I appreciate it, but I think I am the secretary here."  
  
Ron looked up from his notes. "She's right, Kate. I always make this much of a mess. I just clean it up before I give them back; I'll be fine." He threw down the pile he was reading, frustrated, and turned to his friend. "Say, what do you know about the American foreign ambassador?"  
  
The other woman looked indignant as Hermione sat down next to him. "I know that he wanted to change foreign policies, mostly about the treatment of deportation, immigration and extradition. He wanted to make all of these changes after legions of Dark Wizards started pouring into New York and Massachusetts, trying to run from the UK's Ministry."  
  
"And the lax security made them think they were in control of the situation."  
  
"Exactly right, Ron. So obviously, when that power was taken away, they used drastic measures."  
  
"I don't see what the problem is. They were never a big presence in the States, always stayed pretty much low-key."  
  
"That's what you think. They were quite active in their own circles, more in recruiting than anything else. I think they were looking to stage a coup."  
  
"Lucius Malfoy emigrated there recently." Ron's brow furrowed. "Do you think he left to help out with their campaign?"  
  
"No. It was just to get his son a spot on a Quidditch team; I heard Michigan's signed him...they're last in the American league, you know."  
  
His eyes bugged out and his lips turned upwards in a malicious grin. "They really signed him?"  
  
"No. But it was nice to see you crack a smile." The two best friends smiled at each other, completely forgetting the third party's presence. It was only when she cleared her throat loudly that they remembered.  
  
"Well, since you're already up I suppose I can leave."  
  
He nodded distractedly. "Thanks for the information."  
  
Kate gave him a smile, brusquely nodded at Hermione, then Apparated out of his flat.  
  
"She's a good secretary," He said as she left, "and a pretty good friend. But she..."  
  
"She what?"  
  
Ron glanced at her. "She's gets a little strange sometimes. Like today, she was in my bedroom when I woke up."  
  
Hermione, who was picking at another loose string in her jumper, almost cut her finger with the hard yank she gave. "Are you sure you didn't meet her for drinks first?"  
  
"I would've known if I had." His voice was even. "Besides all she did was lecture me on how I should stop thinking that you and I will ever have a chance to be together."  
  
"She has no right to be dispensing advice like that."  
  
"I told her everything." Ron made quite a show of folding the parchment bearing his questions into fourths and stuffing them into a pocket of his robes. "Don't look at me like that; she's completely trustworthy if that's what you're wondering."  
  
"I haven't told anyone about what's been happening with us, not Angela or my parents or anybody. I can't believe you did that."  
  
"'Happening with us'? I thought there was nothing there." He watched as an angry flush spread across her cheeks, but didn't back down. "You need to make up your mind, Hermione. We can't keep going in circles like this."  
  
"I know," she answered, looking up from the threads. "I just...you know me, I pride myself on being logical. I made the logical choice in seventh year and I'm just trying to figure out if it was the right one."  
  
This admission hit Ron like a bombshell. All this time he was been painstakingly analyzing what had happened between them with the idea that he had done something wrong or that...that he had been misguided in his thinking that Hermione had returned his feelings. Now all the pieces were coming together, but it didn't make him any happier. "So letting yourself fall in love with me would be illogical?" His voice was even.  
  
"I...yes?" It came out more as a question than a statement.  
  
"So basically you lied to me that day in seventh year?"  
  
"Yes." She felt guilty and miserable, but also a little surprised. "You're not mad?"  
  
His voice stayed steady. "I'm unbelievably angry...but I have an interview to do. I can get past the barriers, I'll bring you with me so you can get home."  
  
"But...but we didn't settle anything!"  
  
"We will." He held out a bag of Floo Powder. "This'll get us directly into the building."  
  
"Wait, we have to talk about this."  
  
"If we do, I'll be late. Come on." He shook the bag. "Go on ahead."  
  
She took a small pinch, throwing it into the dying embers of the fire. It sprang up immediately. She quickly Accioed her bag from the room she'd been staying in and stepped in, calling, "US-UK Apparition Building!"  
  
*******  
  
The building was almost empty, but a large crowd was standing outside, arguing with the security and trying to get in.  
  
"Business?"  
  
"Journalist; I have to get through to Washington DC." The person asking looked at Hermione. "She's with me."  
  
He gave her a polite nod before turning to Ron. "See last week's Puddlemere game? They flattened those Cannons you're so fond of."  
  
"They'll make it up," Ron replied confidently. The man shot him a disbelieving look.  
  
"Whatever you say. Okay, you're Weasley, Ron, and your lady friend is..."  
  
"Granger, Hermione." She watched him scribble their names into a notepad.  
  
He then took a small Sneakoscope out of his pocket. It stood motionless in his palm. "You two are cleared. Go on ahead."  
  
In a swish of cloak and wand, they disappeared.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Not a very good chapter, I know. Bleargh. But please review anyway! 


	10. A Turn For The Worse

A/N: Sorry for that uneventful chapter. I promise (hope) this one will be better.  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, as usual.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The American Ministry of Magic was situated very near to the Muggle capital. It looked much the way America looked like when it was still a colony of England, with the requsite brick buildings with crown molding, white, roman-columned buildings and the like. Ron and Hermione strode up the crowded cobblestoned streets, the buzz of the crowd growing increasingly louder as they reached the Foreign Relations building. The American Foreign Ambassador to the UK had retreated to hold an emergency conference with other heads of departments. The crowds surrounding the building were reminicent of the ones surrounding the apparition point they were at earlier.  
  
Ron hesitated. "Isn't there an easier way to get in?"  
  
"No." Hermione's voice was flat, scanning the building for entrances. "Do you have your ID?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Just go talk to security. They'll probably let you in." She gave him a little shove. "Go on."  
  
"Excuse me, I'm Ron Weasley with the Daily Prophet. I'd like access to the building; I have an interview with Thierry Bradshaw." Brandishing his identification, he got the guard to call in to the building for verification.  
  
"I suppose I'm not needed anymore, am I?" Hermione gave him a wry smile. "I guess I should get going."  
  
"I'm coming to your flat later."  
  
"There's no need."  
  
"This from the girl who insisted we needed to talk? Sorry, but I don't buy it." He adjusted his tie as the guard gestured for him to follow. "I'm coming whether you like it or not."  
  
Hermione made no reply, only disapparated.  
  
********  
  
Two hours later, a frustrated and angry Ron Weasley came stomping out. The Ambassador had been very brusque with him, even calling him "boy" for the majority of the conversation. He was also very tight-lipped, and it had been obvious from the very beginning that he wouldn't budge much. Ron frowned down at his notes; there wasn't much on the parchment but a few scattered sentences and a rather rude drawing of the Ambassdor's head on the body of a baby Mandrake, complete with wet dirt dribbling out of his mouth.  
  
"Bloody git..." He muttered, removing his wand from his pocket and disapparating away. He landed with a thump in the front yard of Hermione's apartment. He straightened his robes before knocking twice on the door.  
  
"Hey, you're Hermione's friend, right?" Her roommate grinned back at him from behind the door. "Come on in...I think she's at the library right now, but she'll be back in a few." She gestured him to sit; the door opened into the living room.  
  
"Thanks." He took a seat on one of the couches.  
  
"Do you want anything to eat or drink? I can get you something." Her blonde hair bounced with her as she sprung up from where she had been perched.  
  
"Er...no thanks." He watched her wearily. She was a little too...perky for his taste, and any serious conversation he might've hoped to have with her concerning her roommate would probably not work, he reasoned.  
  
"So where WERE you two all this time?" She flashed him an evil smile. "Or is that classified information?"  
  
"Um..."  
  
"That was fun!" Hermione had just burst into the room, arms laden with books. "I don't see why you dislike the school libraries so much, Angela. It's simply fascinating, they have books there that Flourish and Blotts wouldn't carry at all." She had her back turned to Ron, whose couch was situated directly behind her; obviously she was unaware of his presence. "It's very useful information, without any sort of wizarding bias to it."  
  
"Hermione, turn around."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not falling for that again, Angela. I remember what you did to me last time."  
  
"Argh...It's that Ron guy you like so much. He's right there!"  
  
Ron watched interestedly as Hermione flushed pink. "I don't like Ron in that way, he's just a friend..."  
  
"Don't lie to me, Granger. I can SO tell you two are infatuated with each other. See, his ears are turning red."  
  
Cursing himself for having been born with such an unnatural, telling feature, he saw her turn around, eyes wide with shock.  
  
"I didn't know you'd actually come here!" She staggered under the weight of the books a little before setting them all down on the floor.  
  
He noticed that she had stacked them from largest to smallest, rolling his eyes. He sent her a derisive look before clearing his throat. "Can we have that talk now?"  
  
Angela obviously had the tact of a bulldozer as she asked, "Is a heartfelt declaration of love going to come out from one of you soon? I think I should leave." Despite Hermione's vigourous protests, she left, grin splitting her face.  
  
"So." Ron stood, shoving his hands into his pockets.  
  
"So." She crossed her arms, watching him. "You're here. Talk."  
  
"Yeah. Right." He looked at her, his blue eyes skimming hers for any sign of emotion. "I was thinking of what you had said earlier..." He broke off abruptly. "I just don't understand how you could just throw everything we had away just because you didn't want to be wrong."  
  
She sighed, a tad exasperated. She had gone through this herself in the library earlier dozens of times, and could never really bring herself to an honest conclusion. "What exactly did we have, Ron? We had bickering; we had blazing rows, we had absolutely nothing in common-"  
  
"That's what made it real to me," he interrupted. "That we were so different, and disagreed on almost everything, and yet there was...was...I don't know, there was something special that we had going on. Don't you think it's inexplicable, that we'd end up so connected?"  
  
"We were both friends with Harry," she replied staunchly. "That's how we were connected."  
  
Ron gave her an appraising look, making an obvious effort to keep his emotions in check. "Yeah, it was that way, in the beginning. But since around fourth year, it was so obvious."  
  
"What is this 'it' you keep referring to?" She asked testily.  
  
"I don't know what to call it." He was thoughtful, complatitive, in stark contrast to Hermione's fast-steaming state. "Unresolved Sexual Tension? You're the Psychology Major."  
  
"And that's enough to build a relationship on? I'm attracted to you, and you're attracted to me. Let's keep at it until the fire burns out. Is that what you're saying?"  
  
"Bloody hell, Hermione...I want to finish whatever we started. I wish you'd give me the chance." He watched as a wide range of emotions flitted across her face.  
  
"Ron, I...I don't know."  
  
He took an involuntary step towards her, quickly followed by another. Soon they were standing only inches apart.  
  
Hermione tried very hard not to breathe too deeply; the scent of cologne and Highly Worked-Up Ron was starting to get to her. "Ron, I think-"  
  
His eyes again bored into hers, but they were calm turquoise but a stormy, passionate slate color. His hands gripped her arms, the slightly rough pads of his fingers blazing across her back as he pulled her to him. "Don't think." And with that he crushed his mouth against her own.  
  
Her involuntary sigh of pleasure was muffled, the heat between them intensifying as she let herself lean into him; she didn't think she could stand unsupported otherwise. When they finally pulled apart it was only to gauge each other's reactions briefly; Ron grinned devilishy, knowingly, and Hermione rolled her eyes before kissing him impulsively.  
  
"Hermione..." He drew in a sharp breath as her fingers ran down his chest, the heat palpable even through the thickness of his dress robes. "We need to stop."  
  
"I can't," she whispered, reaching up and twining her fingers into his hair. The neatly combed locks sprang out of place eagerly. "Besides, you started it. Finish it if you can." And suddenly she felt herself lifted off of her feet. "Ron!"  
  
"What?" Her legs swung freely in the air as he headed down the hall. "I'm going to 'finish it,' as you so eloquently put it. Where's your bedroom?"  
  
She fought the urge to let herself go, knowing full well where they were heading. "Shouldn't we wait a bit?"  
  
"We've waited for years and years. Why stop now?"  
  
Suddenly there was a loud pounding at the door. Angela's voice could be heard; her tone was fearful and timid. Hermione gave Ron a sharp poke in the ribs, forcing him to wince and put her down abruptly. He swore, but this time it earned no reprimand. They stayed quiet, listening to the words being spoken downstairs.  
  
"Yes...yes...I'll tell her. I...I'm Muggle-born." He could hear some kind of spell being cast; no doubt it was an Unforgivable Curse. Angela was screaming in pain and Ron felt Hermione stiffen next to him, moving forward quietly.  
  
"Don't," he whispered, and she gave him a look before leaning back up against the wall.  
  
"It's Angela; they're hurting her. I have to go." She fished about in her pockets, searching for her wand. "No, no, no...I left it downstairs, R-" She stopped abruptly at the sound of a new voice.  
  
A man's voice, repulsive and cruel, replied, "Don't speak up unless you're asked, you filthy little Mudblood."  
  
Ron could recognize the drawl anywhere. "It's Malfoy."  
  
  
  
A/N: Review!!!!! 


	11. The Trio Resurrected

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I shan't keep you in suspense any longer, so here it is. BTW, I got Honors on the California Golden State Exams in Writing Composition! ::dances:: What did I write? An essay on Harry Potter, of course.  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, as usual.  
  
  
  
  
  
This time Ron was the one to start and try to go downstairs, but Hermione grabbed the back of his robes. "Don't even try it."  
  
"Malfoy, the slimy git." Ron's hand was gripping his wand tightly and Hermione had to pry his fingers individually off of it. They could hear a heavy thud and a gruesome sliding noise followed.  
  
"They took Angela. Oh, God..." Hermione sank back weakly, a little green. "We didn't do anything-"  
  
"Hermione, if we had tried to attack them, they might've gotten us as well. We're going to go after them now," Ron replied. He heard the door shut and the shouting of an incantation.  
  
"MORSMORDE!" Malfoy's voice was drawling despite the fact that he was shouting; they knew that the Dark Mark was now hovering over the apartment.  
  
Ron poked his head out from behind the wall, cautiously. "I think they're gone."  
  
Hermione grasped at the back of his robes again, but this time he pulled them out of her way. "Ron, they might still be here, you have to be careful."  
  
Ignoring her, he stepped out into the hall, making his way out. "We have to go, they'll likely be heading towards Treno."  
  
"Smart, Weasley. Really smart." A hooded Death Eater stepped out in front of him.  
  
"Damn!" He shouted a counter-curse, dodging the attacker's beam deftly. "Hermione, get out, quick!"  
  
In spite of herself, Hermione rolled her eyes, ducking out from behind her sheltered spot to hurl a hex at the cloaked man (at least, she thought it was a man). He was hit in the back and cast a hex in her general direction, but it was obvious that he was concentrating on Ron. The two continued their frantic dueling, but Hermione, determined to help, cast another spell, this time a more painful one.  
  
He turned, fury blazing in his eyes. He could see her fear for Ron in them, and smirked; the twisted grin was the only thing visible under the hood. Returning to his first victim, he swished his wand menacingly and the sound of bone breaking was loud…but Ron's swearing was louder. The Death Eater advanced towards the now prone figure, wand held high. "Pity you didn't wait a minute longer; I was about to leave." He took a deep breath. "Avada- "  
  
He got no further. Hermione stepped out into the hall, throwing a quick Stunning Spell.  
  
Ron glanced at her happily despite his injury. There was a jagged cut down a corner of his lip, and his arm was quite clearly broken. "You really took care of that bloke, didn't you?" He struggled up to a standing position, cradling his arm, but Hermione quickly ushered him to a nearby stairstep.  
  
"Yes, I suppose I did. But Ron…you should've *listened* to me when I told you to be careful."  
  
He grinned, wincing as pain shot through his split lip. "I was careful. Didn't you see how I steathily crept out from behind that wall?"  
  
"And got mauled by a Death Eater in the process?" Hermione tutted. "That wasn't very funny." As Ron shrugged, she stepped closer to him. "I suppose I'd better heal your wounds." She gingerly took hold of his arm, smiling empathetically as Ron sucked in a quick breath and winced. After a few quick first-aid spells, it was good as new, if not a bit stiff.  
  
"Now for your lip." She reached for his chin in order to examine the wound near it, but Ron jerked it away.  
  
"I don't need anything for *that,*" he replied.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous; if I leave it like that it'll get infected."  
  
"It won't kill me."  
  
"It might cause it to fall off," she persisted.  
  
"Ah well, better use it while I can, then." His lips came down on hers again, forcefully, but this time she didn't just melt into a weak puddle in his arms. It was an even sort of kiss, Hermione reflected as she began to nibble at his lower lip. "Argh!" He pulled away, nursing the still-sore wound she had just hit.  
  
"If you had let me heal it, it wouldn't have been a problem." She glanced around the apartment. "And while you were snogging me, there was a Stunned body and a missing friend to find."  
  
"I didn't hear you complaining."  
  
She sent him an evil glare, listening as the siren of a Ministry car came closer to the door. "Maybe we'd better tell them about Angela."  
  
"Yeah, maybe."  
  
"What do you mean, *maybe*?" Her voice was incredulous.  
  
Ron sighed. "D'you know how long it takes for them to pursue cases? I personally think it'd be better if we went after her ourselves."  
  
"What if we get caught?"  
  
"We'll do what we always do; get out of it."  
  
"In case you haven't noticed, we're not seventeen anymore."  
  
He looked at her for a long time in silence before speaking. "No, we're not."  
  
She shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze, toying with her wand absentmindedly. "Should we get going, then?"  
  
"Yeah....yes, I suppose so." He squinted out of the window at the Ministry cars that were fast approaching. "I say we Apparate out to Treno and see what we can get there."  
  
She nodded her assent. "D'you think we could ask-"  
  
"No Viktor," he interrupted quickly.  
  
"Just because you don't like him doesn't mean he isn't trustworthy."  
  
"I think it would be too dangerous to turn to the same source more than once."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Alright, lets just go. Time is of the essence." Turning, she ran smack into another tall figure.  
  
"Sorry...I must've been sticking my head into the fireplace for ten minutes waiting for you to answer, Hermione. Got a crook in my neck, so I decided to just come here. Luckily for you two." Harry straightened out his robes and grinned at his other best friend.  
  
"Harry!" She gave him a quick hug before becoming serious again. "I'd really like to chat, but Ron and I have a friend to save."  
  
He didn't reply, only looked at her with melancholy green eyes. The corners of his mouth fell, completing the picture of an old soul in a young man. Then he spoke. "I'm coming with you."  
  
Ron grinned. "It'll be like old times."  
  
"Except that we have cynicism and skepticism and disillusionment to deal with. We didn't have those when we were children." Hermione's words, however sad, were partly true.  
  
"We'll still be bloody brilliant," Ron said. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!"  
  
His mouth set in a hard line, Harry let Ron and Hermione preceed him before apparating out to Treno.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Seriously, you guys, I'm very much stuck with this. I know how it will end, but not everything that should happen in-between. Have any ideas? I don't want to have to stop!! Also, please review! 


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